Nemesis
by jcdenton2012
Summary: Some enemies are to bitter to die, and money can buy many things... including the fading life of an abducted little girl, found unharmed...by her parents. Sometimes the worst enemy is one you failed to kill and left for dead... but she didn't die... and now... she has power.
1. Nemesis Prologue

Prologue

"Ms Natalie Marquett the…" her would-be interrogating ONI Officer double checked his penciled in notes. The notes, in a modern age where any and all things could easily be handled via data slate, his notes were clearly a primitive form of intimidation, a pathetic attempt to put her on edge with the unfamiliar. Needless to say, his efforts were failing miserably, "Ah yes, the one and only child of Corporate Mogul Samuel Marquett. I believe you know why the UNSC has returned to Minister?"

"I suspect that there are numerous causes for your actions, most logical among them being the reabsorbtion of Minister back into the UNSC following the war?" she smirked, her pink lips wolfishly twisting into a humored line across a beautifully angled face complimented with sharp deep aquatic blue eyes and long blond hair.

"Of course… the UNSC looks forward to a continued…"

She interrupted his political bullshit, "Or perhaps you are interested in the sudden rampant industrialization of Ministers economy, and the new orbital shipyards that were not present when you first turned your back on us?"

The ONI officer clenched his jaw muscles shut with poorly consoled anger. When the UNSC made the, in hindsight, poor tactical decision to pull 'everything' back for a last stand at Earth against the Prophet Regret and later Prophet Truth… most of the Inner Colonies were left totally defenseless. However, since the numerous UNSC holdings had somehow managed to survive the military conflict despite their abandonment, the problem of reintegrating them back into the original political fold had proven… difficult. The Colony of Minister, was one such example.

When the UNSC had first pulled out of this star system and made a bee-line straight for Earth, they yanked everything, all the weapons, ammunition, warships, and whatever troops they could possibly get their hands on. After all, Minister was originally a tourist hub with little to no strategic value, but oh how things had changed without the UNSC keeping tabs. In the three years since the initial abandonment the colony had revolted its original Republic in favor of a strict Authoritarian Regime under the Marquett families consolidated power. What had once been a luxurious tourist hub had since rapidly industrialized. Not only were there now six orbital elevators constantly ferrying freight into and out of orbit, but now… Minister had something that it shouldn't posses at all… an orbital shipyard with another orbital shipyard almost fully constructed.

Just thinking about the possibility of Minister militarizing made the ONI officer stiffen, Mars held most of the naval production facilities for a reason, so that the Inner and Outer Colonies couldn't manufacture warships of their own and attempt succession. But oh how things had changed because Minister now had its own navy… only two cruisers, but those cruisers set a bad precedent.

The ONI officer pretended to shuffle his papers on the interrogation table and cleared his throat, despite the hate in his eyes remaining hardened and dagger like towards the foul witch before him. She was in control, holding all the cards, and she knew it. If the UNSC tried invading Minister, deposing its current government as it was, then every other colony currently on the fence would turn its back on Earth. Logistically, the UNSC and ONI didn't have the numbers capable of sitting on all the remaining colonies… despite the launch of the 'UNSC Infiniti' they were still militarily numerically weak from the initial conflict with the Covenant and it would take decades to amass the necessary ships to forcefully reintegrate every backwards colony back into the fold.

"Ms Marquett," he smiled, "The UNSC only seeks to re-obtain some modicum of diplomatic contact with Minister. Reintegration back into the Human Fold… is something we think will take a significant amount of time. After all, Earth does approve of the colonies exercising certain freedoms… assuming they maintain a certain degree of, how should we say, inhibition."

She laughed, first a chuckle, and then out loud, and finally a full eruption of loud gasping laughter, which took the interrogator aback. "That…" she calmed herself, red cheeked, regaining her physical decorum, "Oh… thanks, I needed that."

The Interrogator coughed discreetly into his fisted palm, "With all due respect Ms Marquett, this is a serious matter… and I would appreciate it if you would…"

She interrupted him again, "987."

"I beg your pardon?" he replied with a raised eyebrow.

She leaned in closely and smiled wickedly once again, her long blond hair falling before her face and those two brilliant blue eyes, "987. When I was little, a child, I was diagnosed with fourteen physically debilitating diseases… all at once. This occurred, after… a brief moment where I was abducted on my way home from school. My parents, the wealthy Marquett family… didn't know what was wrong… but they did have the money to find out for themselves."

The ONI officer felt the collar around his throat tighten like a noose. This was the second reason why Ms Marquett secretly terrified him. She was an exception to the rule, someone who shouldn't even exist… a lingering mistake from that bitch Catherine Halsey.

"987, the amount of surgeries and gene augmentations I went through," she leaned back in repose, her long legs still crossed as she grinned, "In all fairness, they could have stopped at 823, but you know why they didn't… my parents that is?"

"No," he replied, beads of sweat running down his forehead.

She looked at him with focused hate and continued to grin, "Because they knew."

The ONI Interrogator felt his heart racing. They knew? The Marquett family, wealthy, wealthy enough to make damn sure that their sick flash cloned daughter could survive Catherine Halsey taking a baseball bat to her genes… they knew. And now, their daughter, no, their abomination was the dictator of Minister… a colony that hated the UNSC for turning its back on them. This was divine retribution for sin stacked upon sin stacked upon sin… and a lot of it was one persons fault, Catherine Halsey.

"Oh yes. They knew… that I wasn't their real daughter when they started sorting through my corrupted DNA because you see… wealth has its own unique rewards… including a DNA sample from the real Natalie Marquett, stored away… kept nice and safe, just in case some sort of bizarre off-world virus got at their darling little daughter. When they compared our two DNAs… they noticed, how should we say, errors, alterations made to key chromosomes meant to accelerate cellular decay. These alterations were grown into me from conception, thus… they knew…"

She gave a slight laugh and continued, "So that begged the question… where was the real Natalie Marquett, and what should they do with his lump of worthless pretender flesh?"

"The first question could not be answered as easily as the second. While my…" she hesitated to use the word, "Parents, looked for any clues as to the location of their real daughter… I was put to good use."

She looked at him with stern hatred, "After they finished saving my life they made damn sure I had every tool at my disposal necessary to get their revenge. Countless genetic modifications meant to enhance speed, endurance, and cellular regeneration… THE BEST private tutors for hand-to-hand combat. They made me what I am… because… sooner or later they heard about 'The Spartans.'"

"Tell me," she said smugly, "A group of Super-human soldiers randomly appear to fight an alien menace, and you never thought that a group of intelligent citizens with vast wealth, who knew that their daughter was a fake, that they would not be able to connect the dots? Oh… but they did."

"I have no clue what you are insinuating…" laughed and dismissed the ONI officer with a wave of the hand.

"So tell me," half grinned Ms. Natalie Marquett, "Is the real me still alive, or did you finally kill her just like you tried to kill me? Or, are you still cowering behind that nonsense that Spartans never die?"

"That's it! This conversation is over!" And on that note the ONI officer tried to storm off, but… she wasn't quite done. The man froze, like an immovable statue, gritting his teeth as his body refused to move. Slowly, Ms Natalie Marquett stood from here chair, neatly pulled down her black blazer while making sure her cufflinks were properly placed with her neatly pressed business suit, and walked in front of the trapped ONI-man. His dark green eyes were frantic with freight as she slid right in front of his face just inches away.

"You know what's funny about that woman Catherine Halsey, oh, and don't be surprised that I know her name… I have had lots of time to unravel this mess?" He couldn't move, couldn't respond to her question… even if he wanted to. In fact, all the ONI-man wanted to do was scream for help as Ms Marquett continued her rambling.

"That woman, she held back… oh yes, didn't you know? She could have pushed the Spartans much further, but that ethical weakness of her's just wouldn't break. But my…" she laughed, "Parents, well… let's just say that revenge can be a great motivator, and I agreed to everything."

She came even closer to his face so that her eyes were mere centimeters away from his own, "I'm stronger, faster, smarter, and all around superior to any Spartan that you have ever created because I agreed to everything. Every enhancement, no matter how dangerous, and despite it all… I lived when I should have died so many times before. And you know why?"

He felt his heart race… she was toying with him, and he still couldn't move. What had she done to him?

"It's because no matter what I do, I will forever be the fake. But, being a fake has its advantages. A fake is expendable, a fake," she laughed, "despite its obvious deficiencies has a lot more to live for, because… as a fake… if I become strong enough… I can surpass the original."

The ONI officer watched her dark deep blue eyes suddenly shift into an ominous green color, just like his own, in fact… those were his eyes. Her lips, face, hair, skin… she became him, shape-shifting… How was that even possible?

"Now how," she spoke, "did that," her voice was modulating," pompous voice, "almost perfect, "Go," she sounded just like him, standing before him with a wicked smile upon her face.

"In addition to being physically superior I have other far more beneficial talents, but do not worry… you won't be around to see me use them against the UNSC."

And on that note she undid her tie, wrapped it around his neck and started to squeeze while he stood immobile until his lips turned blue and he perished from oxygen starvation. The ONI-man went slack, after-all; she couldn't stop the neural kinetics of a dead man.

"Such a waste," she chuckled, as she started to strip his body and change into his clothes.

A few minutes later, Ms Natalie Marquett stepped out of the interrogation room and while speaking as the ONI Officer said, "Give her a few hours. I want her to stew…" The two UNSC guards both gave brisk salutes as she, pretending to be him, walked off and disappeared from the supposedly secure dark site where she was being illegally detained on a business summons to Indigo Seven.


	2. An Offer For Employment

Chapter 1:

"How bad?" asked Rear Admiral Osman as she sat in her command chair aboard the UNSC Port Stanley. She was addressing BB, as he droned on and on about a failed capture on a high priority target of interest for ONI. The problem wasn't so much the failed capture as… there was also an above average amount of collateral damage.

"We lost contact with Black Site 034, seven hours ago and it wasn't until recently that a rapid response team managed to reestablish contact. Not only was the detainee missing, but we also concluded that the entire holding station had been… for the lack of a better term… silenced. Of the fifty permanently stationed ONI personal, there were no survivors. Based upon the initial survey of the combat damage by first responder Captain Adrian Hell, it would seem as though energy weapons were mostly to blame, which of course begs the question…"

"Is she working with a former Covenant Faction?" Osman finished while propping her head upon a raised and resting fist atop her chairs armrest, "These guys are extremists and suspected insurrectionists, but also pro-human… why would they openly recruit alien support because based upon what information we've already gleamed from preliminary infiltrations of Minister, they aren't exactly the NCA."

BB's holographic image hovered before her visage, bobbing side to side as he pondered numerous strategic possibilities before giving a proper reply, "Perhaps… the Arbiter is returning the favor by starting his own Civil War within the UNSC. Of course, if this was the case… well… his Telcam certainly is much more capable."

Osman reflected upon that, and thought while plausible that the Arbiter might have discovered ONI manipulation into triggering the Sangheili Civil War, ultimately, the possibility was far too remote, too improbable, and very out of character to be possible.

"If that was the case I think the Arbiter would have responded differently, most likely with a direct military confrontation rather than with this high degree of counter espionage."

BB instantly gave his next possible conclusion, "Then… perhaps, Ms Natalie Marquett has hired former Covenant Forces as an Auxiliary. It is possible that certain disenfranchised Kig-Yar or Unggoy might have been bought off as a mercenary force. Though, I must admit that the very idea of a Sangheili Mercenary Band tending to the military whims of a pro-human military movement, while possible, remains highly improbable due to both cultures. After all, Vata 'Gajat's only sided with the NCA because they were hired mercenaries and also because both the Vata 'Gajat and NCA were anti-UNSC. Officially, the NCA is merely anti-UNSC and not distinctly pro-human, needless to say… Minister does not possess the political leverage necessary to gain such trustworthy Sangheili Allies as the NCA. "

"Hummm," pondered Osman, "How did you come to these conclusions? Tell me, how do we NOT know if the energy weapons were merely used by humans in order to make it appear like an alien attack?"

BB's bow tightened and curled up, a slight holographic alteration meant to signify a smile, "The report filed by the onsite AI's compared the plasma hits to the possible locations of the firing personal in order to determine the heights of the raised weapons as they were being fired. The weapons were either fired by individuals averaging 3-5 feet tall or 7 feet tall. Meaning, either lots of very below average in height humans, or…"

"Uggoy, Kig-Yar, and Sangheili…"

BB's instantly filed in the last possibility, "Or… Jiralhanae?"

Osman's eyes narrowed. Brutes, she hadn't considered that, "What about blood splatter?" she asked.

BB cocked his boxy shape to one side, clearly in repose for a snarky response, "Blood," he stated simply, "Can always be planted. We found Uggoy, Kig-Yar, Sangheili, Jiralhanae, and other samples from another half a dozen races, but no bodies. As things stand, the height data is the only hard information we have regarding the incident."

"And what of the detainee? Ms. Natalie Marquett?" she asked with a hardened stare.

"We've already confirmed her location. She arrived at Indigo Seven roughly two hours ago with a full security detail. As you would expect… our undercover operatives at Indigo Seven were rather… surprised by that turn of events."

"Do you think they are in any danger?" she asked.

"No need to worry. I highly doubt any of them have been found out by either the colonial defense forces on Indigo Seven or whatever personal are with Ms. Marquett. They should be safe… for now."

"Good… just make sure they keep monitoring the situation… until we know who exactly helped free Ms. Marquett from Black Site 034."

"Of course, and while I'm at it… I'll also make sure the new bagmen know to 'actually' put a guard on her when we catch her this time…" he smugly replied, "Clusmy humans… where would you be without me… lalalalala…"

BB disappeared from the bridge, more for show since he was the ship, in order to give Osman a sense of isolation so that she may ponder the greater strategic situation on her own. She had everything she needed, and ultimately as the new Director of ONI… the final battle plans were hers to make on how exactly to covertly handle this situation.

…..

The phantom smell of ashes seeped up Natalie's nose as she stood in the shower, beads of water running down her naked body while her palms rested against the tiled aperture where the water fell from a faucet upon her waist long blond hair stuck against her white skin.

"I smell burning Angels," she smiled wickedly, "Oh… how they have fallen from good grace, upon iron spikes, stuck like roasting pigs." She heard them screaming, always the screaming, the wicked begging for release, begging to properly die as they melted in the fires of hell. Their eyes, always staring at her, accusingly… arms outstretched, but it didn't matter… they remained trapped.

In an instant the image was gone and Natalie was back in her shower, the hot steam circling around her naked body as she regained her fortified mental composure. This was her, the real her, not the twisted thing deep down inside her mind, clawing away at the fortress gates to be released and unbound… uncontrolled.

In a way, she envied them, the actual Spartans. It was true, Dr. Halsey had turned them into biological weapons, but she always knew where to stop. She always knew when certain drugs or augmentations could cause long term complications. Sure, most Spartans were sterile social inverted killing machines, but… they weren't like her, they didn't have a monster deep down on the inside.

Natalie pushed away from the shower wall and sat down upon the tiled floor, the falling water landing between her bare legs as she reflected internally within the white noise, yes, the mental static caused from hearing the bathing water, it drowned out everything else… it kept the monster from clawing its way out.

"When this is all over," she said with a sense of conviction, "I think I'll kill myself."

There was a sense of finality to it, kill herself and kill the monster, simple as that, a self sacrifice. She couldn't let it loose, not again.

The Spartans were different though, they weren't like her. They didn't suffer from dementia, from schizophrenia, or from any of the other numerous mental disorders that turned her mind into a twisted maze filled with murderous warped personalities. She envied that about them… because… the monsters' strength wasn't worth the price.

"Lady Marquett," said a distinguished elderly voice as a set of knuckles rapped against the bathroom door, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine Ghillian," she replied while sitting on the shower floor, starring at her wrists, as thoughts of slitting them open slowly evaporating away while she remembered her mission, her goals, her revenge. She had to hold it together until them, keep the monster subdued until it was all done… until the UNSC burned in the hell of its own creation.

Slowly, Natalie stood up, and turned off the shower, a few small beads of water trickling down upon her scalp as she opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the bathroom floor, wet feet touching cold metal as she started to wipe away the watery moisture from her feminine curves with a padded white towel.

"Very well my lady," replied Ghillian, "I'll make sure to lay out your clothes and see to the car."

"Thank you Ghillian," she replied in a whisper while taking a brief moment to catch a glimpse of herself in the bathroom wall mirror. It took a few brief seconds of concentration to change her eyes from gleeful murderous intent bordering upon twisted ecstasy into something more tamed and distant. She was glad the old man hadn't seen her like that… he had always served her even as a 'pretend' child… and the very last thing she wanted was to make him suffer in his far more progressed age.

Suffer? How odd… she was going to murder millions before this was all done, but in the end she couldn't bring herself to harm a single old man. How silly. How… she stopped briefly to shed a single tear, was she even human anymore?

…

Tek stood within the human woman's apartment, standing more because of the awkwardness of the situation rather than out of some sort of latent disgust. He could hear her, the human he had been hired to rescue, bathing in the next room.

On his home world the female gender was matriarchal dominant, but… she was 'different' despite the power she obviously wielded. In fact, when he and his merry band of mercenaries had first discovered her whereabouts following the brutal butchery of every single living flesh and blood human being at what appeared to be a secret UNSC prison on a not too distant tropical planet… she seemed very tame and unaggressive unlike the foul feather witches of his race. And so it was, he performed his contract to the letter, picked up the human woman, and returned her to this specific world.

It wasn't until they arrived here, at this world called Indigo Seven, when he learned of her wealth and power. She was important, and a possible source of future contracts, thus his interests in observing a continued course of interaction.

Tek had been the only mercenary allowed to travel planet-side once their vessel arrived. The remainder of his men were in orbit, hiding from Indigo Sevens Military Craft, and awaiting his return while…

Out of the corner of his eye Tek saw movement. Slowly and methodically an elderly human dressed in a finely tailored black suit, wearing white gloves and a manacle eyeglass walked in from a nearby private bar holding a metal tray with ornate white ceramic cups. He stopped briefly outside of his clients bathing chambers and rapped his knuckles against the door.

"Lady Marquett are you alright?" this human male, her… servant, protector… such a thing puzzled the Kig-Yar as he waited while standing. It was clear that this male was concerned, did humans typically bath for such long durations of time… Tek didn't know.

"I'm fine Ghillian," she shallowly replied. The old man nodded and slowly walked upright and proper across the room to sit the tray of ceramic cups upon a not so distant table. He then faced Tek, and bowed graciously with an emotionless face.

"Master Tek, please enjoy House Marquett's tea selection. I will return shortly with more itemsyou're your consumption."

Master Tek? He was a master now? Such a thing was odd… he had never considered himself a master of anything excluding a few honorless mercenaries. This concept was baffling and nagged at the mercenary as this human male stood prim and proper and walked off towards a mechanical lift for the luxury penthouses staff kitchen.

As the lift descended, the door to the human woman's bathing chambers opened with a puff of steam. She stood gracefully within the fog and stepped forward with a white robe wrapped around her body, the clothe ending just above her knees.

"Mr. Tek… I see you are still here… this is good. My apologizes for the…" she stopped briefly in thought as if to find the correct word, "Ah yes, for the… 'rude' wait."

She looked at the ceramic cups and smiled, "I see Ghillian has delivered the tea, would you care to join me?"

Tek cocked his head to the side, tea, human nourishment perhaps? He wondered about tasting such… alien things, as this human female walked around him and sat cross legged upon a deep soft chair made out of some sort of expensive fabric.

The Kig-yar, having no real option, sat on the edge of another chair, and upon sensing its comfort through his armor and bones, leaned all the way back sinking into its gentle fabrics, his golden grieves and cuirass aching at his joints as he relaxed.

"So, she said while pouring some sort of dark liquid into two ceramic cups and offering him one, "Drake sent you to 'retrieve' me. How kind of the good admiral. Then again, he was never one to waist potential allies."

Tek took her ceramic cup and splashed the liquid down his throat; it was very bitter and made him cough awkwardly. The human female laughed off to his side, "You were supposed to sip it."

The Kig-yar looked at her with ruffled feathers upon his back, angry at being mocked, as something suddenly shifted in her mind. He sensed it, like a sudden color hue twist in her psyche, and then something else emerged from deep down inside her very being.

"I think… we can end the formalities," she said while placing her ceramic cup to the side and looking at him with a very intimidating glare, "You know that humanity isn't as… consolidated… as many former covenant races have thus far been led to believe. The fact that you were hired to protect and escort me to this planet is proof of that. But, I want to ask you a question… do you know why humanity hasn't totally splintered following the war?"

Tek cocked his head to the side as he pondered the question, "The Spartans?" he asked after a brief pause.

The human female smiled wickedly and nodded in approval, "Exactly Mr. Tek, the Spartans… now, let me ask you another question… let's suppose that another race, another faction, just so happened to come along and create something capable of fighting Spartans on equal footing. Without their little 'fear advantage' as it were, how do you think most of the UNSC colonies would align in relation to Earth?"

He followed the train of logic and quickly responded, "Without Spartans to threaten the human colonies with forced peace… they would probably break away."

The human female nodded once more in approval before speaking, "Thirty years, my wealthy family has spent thirty years preparing to level the playing field between the UNSC and Earths respective colonies. Me… I'm just overseeing the grand finale to those constant years of preparation. Now, tell me… Mr. Tek… did you know that the Spartans once had an ancient historical rival on Earth?"

"No," he replied with a hint curiosity. He, after all, knew nothing of human history.

"It's true," replied the human female, "They were called, 'The Immortals,' and trust me… just like how the Spartan IIs changed the military landscape… my new little pets are going to truly elevate the colonial hostilities."

She now stood from her chair and started to walk away towards what appeared to be a personal bed chamber, "Mr. Tek… I want you to accompany me this evening to a meeting with Indigo Sevens Planetary Governor… and trust me when I say that this will be time well spent. Until then… please enjoy my hospitality…"

As the human female closed the doors to her private chambers, the male manservant returned carrying numerous food items upon a fine silver tray, this included a bizarre bowl of small black eggs, "Master Tek," addressed her servant, "House Marquett would like to treat you to our best selection of fine cheeses and exotic caviar."

Still remembering the horrible tasting liquid from earlier… Teks stomach suddenly lurched in revolt at the very notion of devouring even more bizarre human delicacies.


	3. Bait and Switch

Tek sat across from the human female as they rode together in some sort of rather ostentatious wheeled vehicle. Her manservant, the finely dressed human male called Gillian was driving as both he and his new employer enjoyed yet another distinct human beverage. However, unlike the bitter 'tea' he was treated to earlier in the day, Tek rather enjoyed this substance called, 'cognac.' Together, the pair viewed the human colony through the cars tinted windows so that he could not be seen by the jubilant masses lining the streets. In fact, all he saw were the cheering smiling humans lining the sidewalks, waving at his employers black R-Type Bentley, a vehicle she assured him was a, 'demonstration of wealth,' as it weaved with police escort through the streets towards a rather impressively sized monolithic skyscraper at the cities center.

"This wasn't what you were expecting was it?" she asked him, her legs crossed and body clad in an ornate white clothe suit with a golden lapel stamped in her families corporate logo holding a blue tie together between the valley of her bust.

"Why are they so happy? I thought you were a villain to the UNSC?" he asked in confusion.

"One man's villain… is another man's freedom fighter," she smugly replied as the Bentley turned into a parking deck that the colonial police were quick to warden off with wooden barricades, "They love me because of what I represent, not because of whom or what I am. To them… I am an opportunity, a focal point for the representation of colonial independence from Earth. Huh," she suddenly laughed, "To think that I have become this generations George Washington…?"

"What's a George Washington?" asked Tek as the vehicle suddenly came to a stop, Gillian exiting and opening their shared passenger door for her to properly depart with Tek in tow.

"George Washington was," she stopped briefly while exiting the vehicle to look him in the eyes with a hint of youthful enthusiasm, "a great man… in a time of tyrants."

Ms. Natalie Marquett, Guillian, and Tek crossed the parking deck along with a group of heavily armed security guards wielding both flak vests and SMGs. Together, they entered a mechanical lift and rapidly climbed the skyscraper for the councilors chambers where her employer would soon greet Indigo Sevens Governor… as well as a few other foreign dignitaries.

Together the group exited the elevator into a sky lobby where yet more armed guards, this time in black suits and ties stood at periodic intervals scattered across the observation platform.

"You should know," said Ms Marquett to Tek, "that a meeting such as this has never occurred within UNSC history. Right now, myself, the Governor of Indigo Seven, and at least ten other dignitaries from half a dozen other colonies and large corporate businesses are meeting to discuss an alliance of sorts. All I want you to do is sit to the side and watch… say nothing."

"Why? Aren't I one of your hired guns?"

She laughed amused at his comment before replying, "You're not just some mercenary warlord. You represent… 'A foreign investor' or at least to them, this is how you will be perceived. All I need you to do is act the part, appear entertained… be part of the group, but don't jeopardize this event by attempting to appear as anything other than… 'An interested alien ambassador.'"

Tek understood and simply nodded as two guards opened the double doors into a vast meeting chamber where a holographic projector had been set up in the middle of a circular conference table. Already, the numerous human envoys had gathered and were awaiting the arrival of both him and his employer. Together the group of humans and Tek sat at the conference table while Gillian tended to his mistress.

"A jackal?" said one of these humans in surprise. Before Tek could respond to the human racial slur, Ms Marquett spoke in turn, "Mr. Tek is here as a formal ambassador for numerous 'foreign' interests. He does not represent them diplomatically, but instead as an observer…"

Inside her mind Ms. Marquett also thought, 'Thank of him as representing the French,' but alas it was unnecessary to speak such words because the assembled human ambassadors merely nodded along to his presence. After all, they were already technically committing treason so what 'if' the alien sat in on the discussions. It truly didn't matter if he was here or not, given that word of this meeting would soon leak out to the other races anyway.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, Corporate Moguls, and fine Agents on Mission to their respective colonies," addressed Ms Marquett as Guillian pulled out her chair and pushed her forward gently against the table to which she then rested her arms, "The purpose of this meeting is to discuss a potential alliance of interests, but before we do that… I want to say something important, something that is on all your minds."

She eyed them all and then grinned, "Many of you are here as a diplomatic courtesy. I know that you have no interests in allying yourselves with my little revolution. There is no point in denying it, because both you and I know why. It's the Spartans, the UNSC's Ace in the Hole, so long as the UNSC posses the Spartans and we have nothing capable of matching them… we are forever enslaved into bondage. The reason for this is simple, a single Spartan is worth three hundred marines, and that's a conservative estimate. A single squad is more than enough to defeat a single rebel colony… but… I wanted to let you know that I've created something to help even these horrific odds with the UNSC."

Several of the diplomats eyed one another in surprise and muttered amongst themselves in hushed whispers. She already knew that the Vice Chairman of Vid-com, attending this meeting several seats away was reporting to ONI so she hoped what came next sent a very distinct message.

"Ladies and gentlemen," continued Ms Marquett, "I've created a new type of soldier capable of matching Spartans in the field. The reason for this meeting wasn't just to discuss a potential alliance… it was also to give you a 'live' demonstration of their capabilities.

Tek's employer nodded discreetly to Gillian who then pulled up several live streams on the holographic display upon the center of the table. What everyone instantly saw were twenty different camera feeds broadcasting from an unknown tropical planet.

"Several weeks ago I leaked intelligence to ONI that a group of Forerunner Ruins had been discovered on this planet. That part is true, but… I already had them pillaged sooo… the Spartan team you are now observing has been sent on, for the lack of a better term, 'a fool's errand.'"

Tek saw them, a five man team walking through the jungles in dark blue and black armor. They appeared in camera footage, heat, and night vision; ranging in view from side, top, front, and orbital satellite.

"Gillian… if you would be so kind…" she addressed her servant.

"Of course my lady," he replied while tapping a console in the table, coughing gentlemanly, and then speaking, "Immortal21… you are now live…"

There was a brief pause before a strong voice shrilled back, "Roger that Indigo Seven… now preparing to engage hostiles."

Tek now saw them, the warriors her employer had spoken about, they were tailing the Spartans at a distance… closing in for a gunfight.

"Gillian… would you please patch in the UNSC coms. We do have them compromised don't we?"

"Of course my lady," he replied with a bow before giving more instructions to the holographic display. Shortly thereafter the room erupted in coms chatter, evidently between the Spartans exploring the tropical jungle several light years away.

Tek instantly recognized one of the warriors names as it was spoken, "Lt Carmichael, why did ONI send us all the way out here?" spoke one of the Spartans. Another voice replied with, "We're only scouting the ruins. As far as anyone knows… they haven't been looted."

The Kig-yar mercenary grinned wolfishly… Spartan Carmichael… Tek was going to enjoy watching this, but before he could comment on such matters his employer addressed the mysterious soldiers tailing the Spartan Fireteam, "Immortal21, wait for the Spartans to exit the ruins, at which point consider them sanctioned."

….

Spartan Carmichael and his men entered the mysterious metal Forerunner Ruins and fanned out into defensive positions, DMRs at the ready, with helmets displaying every detail in green tinted night vision.

"Sir… what's that?" asked Spartan Rogers, as he pointed his DMR at a nearby metal pedestal. Carmichael crossed the room and stood before the glowing Forerunner monolith. He knelt down and looked at… a toy? Yes, a toy Spartan bobble-head pinning down some sort of greeting card.

Carmichael picked up the toy, the oversized Spartan head bobbing side to side, as he read the greeting card out loud for his mean to hear, "Finish Line = Pelican?"

Spartan Tomas cocked his head to the side while guarding the entrance, "Pelican? You mean… our pelican… but its five clicks away?"

Carmichael sat the little toy Spartan back down upon the pedestal and looked at his men, "Fire Team Shadow… we've been duped. Coms?" he asked. Spartan Saros was quick to respond in her typical cocky tone, "Jammed sir? We only have short range."

Together the team nodded in unison, "We can't stay here," said Carmichael, "but this is clearly a trap. Expect trouble the second we step outside… Fireteam Shadow… shoot to kill on sight!"


	4. Fox Hunt

The Spartans emerged from the Forerunner Ruins in full sprint, just like fleeing wolves fresh from a murderous kill and cowardly in their attempts to abandon the rotting carcass, but… their enemies weren't normal hunters… they were very much just as deadly.

"Lt!" yelled Rogers as he noticed them, shapes, moving in the woods… with glowing green eyes from built in helmet night vision sensors. Fire Team Shadow quickly opened fire with their DMRs, bullets spraying into the tropical foliage but failing to hit targets as these… things… dodged and blended back into their surroundings.

"Don't waste your ammo unless you have a clear shot!" yelled Carmichael as these same creatures moved in-between the trees like stalking predators, black phantoms, shadows hunting human prey. In fact, it was now that he noticed it… they… we're keeping pace with himself and his Spartans.

"That's not possible," he muttered, evidently the others had noticed as well because Tomas quietly retorted in turn, "Nothing moves that fast… nothing but a…"

The entire team fell silent while in full sprint as these things closed in on all sides, glowing green visors haunting the Spartans like ghosts, "Nothing but Spartans," gritted Carmichael, but that wasn't possible… these things couldn't be…

…..

Back on Indigo Seven the numerous diplomats assembled amongst the round table muttered amongst themselves, baffled and surprised, as they watched the so-called 'Immortals' keep pace with the UNSC Spartans.

"I bet they're surprised," laughed Ms Marquett with glee, "This is probably the first time that a group of Spartans have ever fought an enemy with better reflexes than themselves. Dr. Halsey was brilliant, but the process of Superconducting Fibrification of Neural Dendrites is frankly… antiquated. I found a much better solution, by boasting the human nervous system with mechanical augmentation so that it doesn't result in making invalids of %12 of the candidate pool. Instead of making extensive augmentations of the human brain, augment the human spine and brain stem with cybernetic enhancements which can instantly transfer the chemical movement signals."

The group of assembled human leaders glared at her with unease while she continued the brief science lesson, "Where your average Spartan shows an enhanced nervous system with movements in excess of plus %300, my process is capable of boasting that much higher to %500. These Immortals, to them… the bullets being fired must seem like they are traveling in slow motion. Who needs expensive high density armor like the UNSC when the weapons being used can't even touch you?"

….

Fire Team Shadow was being flushed like ducks and they knew it. These things, were they even human, or were they some sort of alien, Carmichael didn't know, but one he was certain of was that they were fast and keeping pace with the Spartans with ease. Roughly one click away from the Forerunner ruins… and these monsters started to open fire with 99C sniper rifles. It was sporadic, but also highly concentrated sniper fire often catching his men in multiple cross-fires.

"Son of a…" cursed Saros as an anti-material round hit her left shoulder guard, dusting her shields with a flash of golden splintering light as she jumped over and down a dirt mound, a second sniper round missing her helmet by mere millimeters.

"Maintain your intervals!" ordered Carmichael. Rogers followed Saros over the dirt mound, turning to fire his DMR in mid-air. In that instant time seemed to slow to a crawl as three different snipers from three different angles hit him center mass at the exact same time, cutting him in half with anti-material rounds. Everyone watched the dying Spartan land in two clumps of blood soaked meat as those glowing green eyes evaporated back into the woods while Carmichael and Thomas laid down suppressive fire.

"Dead sir!" yelled Saros as the duo came up to the bleed out remains of Rogers laying motionless upon the ground with the young female Spartan leaning over his gored corpse.

…

Tek was enjoying the show. It had been mere seconds and already the Spartans were one man down. However, the Immortals had yet to lose a single soul, and the assembled observing diplomats knew it. Already he could see several of the other assembled observers coming around to Ms Marquetts way of thinking. These humans… they were devious and treacherous… but in this instance he couldn't help but appreciate the sudden manner in which they gladly turned their backs upon the much hated UNSC. Her employer was evidently right, all she had to do was show them that the Spartans could be killed… and that would be enough… A grim grin slowly drew upon the Jackles beak as he continued to watch the holo-screens. With any luck Carmichael might even get killed… and he really hoped that would be the case.

…..

Carmichael couldn't do anything for Rogers. Already Saros, he, and Thomas were being outflanked. He could see them, feel them… those green glowing eyes moving silently through the wooden underbrush.

"What are you doing?" asked Saros as Carmichael leaned over Rogers's corpse and inputted a security code into a digital wrist display, "Triggering his armors self destruct function. We can't carry him with us nor can we allow his armor to fall into enemy hands," replied Carmichael as a digital clock started to countdown on his helmets hud.

"Hurry, this way," he ordered, leading the way out of the small trench. Saros and Thomas hesitantly followed him, knowing the old military motto, 'Never leave a man behind,' but… deep down they knew it was the right thing to do. There was simply nothing that they could do for Rogers without needlessly endangering their own lives.

As the fire team continued to make a mad dash for the Pelican dropship… a loud fiery explosion suddenly light up the night sky behind them from Rogers armor self destructing.

More sniper fire also came from three separate sides, pinning in the group of Spartans, "What the hell," cursed Thomas, "An ambush! How are they staying so well coordinated while we're moving so quickly?"

"Don't panic damn-it!" yelled Carmichael, "Just stay focused, and keep moving towards the Pelican!"

….

"I thought Spartans were supposed to be a lot tougher than this?" mocked Chairman Ned Bailey of Segema Five, as he watched the UNSC's best death dealers being run down like wild prey.

The odds were fair. Four vs four, or more to the point three vs four now that one Spartan had died. Furthermore, everyone at the table had already garnered an excellent look at the Spartan's enemies. They were an assembled lot averaging five feet six inches in height, men wearing slightly cut-down variants of the SPI stealth armor, painted black with green tiger marks…which was briefly visible when the armor wasn't in stealth mode broadcasting its digital camouflage.

Beyond the usage of some sort of primitive exoskeleton and a cheaper rendition of the slightly more advanced UNSC armor… the technological gap between how both sides were outfitted was laughable. It was like modern day bronze clad soldiers running in terror from men with nothing but clothe tunics and wicker shields. But, these, 'Discount Spartans,' these 'Immortals' were using sniper rifles, and there was also something else about them, something about how they moved…

"It's a hive mind?" said Ms. Marquett, her words instantly garnering the attention of everyone in the room, "Done through deep neurological implants. Every Immortal possesses some form of basic technological inspired telepathy, essentially without the usage of radio waves. In addition to this the Immortals could also link their minds to any form of computational scripted existing technologies ranging from the armor they wore to the numerous orbital satellites keeping watch overhead."

"Sooo?" asked CEO Tao Lingshan owner of Zyphrin/Chi one of the largest private construction companies owned and operated outside of Sol System, "That's how they are running circles around the Spartans. Since this fire fight is occurring outdoors, these 'Immortals' have… not only the stealth advantage, but also the information advantage."

…

Carmichael, Saro, and Thomas were making good time despite the enemy sniper fire. There was only about half a click remaining between their present location and the parked Pelican. Together, as a team, they skirted down the side of a steep slope, Thomas going last in the group when four sniper rounds blew his legs out from under him.

"Thomas no!" yelled Saro as she stretched her arm out to catch him, before another two sniper rounds blew his head off mid-tumble. Carmichael pulled the foolish woman back just as another two sniper rounds filled the area where her head had previously been.

On the way down the slope, the Spartans finally got a good look on them, the green visors and humanoid shape, "Indies?" said Carmichael, bewildered. They were standing on the ridge, dispersing in different directions… however, what surprised him the most was that there were only four of them.

"What is this?" he said more to himself than to Saro, "It's almost like…," the Spartan's mind suddenly cleared to the reality of his situation and the cruelty of it all, "This isn't some sort of counter espionage hunt… this is a field test, and those are… some sort of Anti-Spartan."

…..

"Give that man a prize!" laughed Ms. Marquett on Indigo Seven, as she heard the Spartans sudden realization as to what was going on and being broadcasted over his coms. This wasn't them being hunted down for thieving a Forerunner Ruin, this was them being hunted for sport, a trial run for things soon to come.

"How much is this costing you?" asked Dave Winthurp of the New Odessa Colony, he was attending the meeting on behalf of his planets governor, and watching the hunt with VERY keen interests. If Ms Marquett had to guess, the lowly bureaucrat was probably scared from what he was witnessing. It was, after all, not every day you got to see UNSC Spartans made a laughing stock out of by fancy new Indie Guerillas.

"To augment, train, and equip a single Spartan the UNSC spends roughly 2.3 million credits," said Ms. Marquett, "I was able to cut that down to about 400 thousand credits, and my Immortals are just as effective at ranged combat. However, up close… the UNSC still maintains a tremendous advantage due to their superior mjolnir armor, but therein rests a fatal flaw. The mjolnir armor is a crutch… and the new crop of Spartans depend too heavily upon their armor, whereas my Immortals… can make do with far less and still get the job done."

She continued, "It takes the same amount of time to augment, train, and equip an Immortal as a Spartan IV, but for a fraction of the cost… and the best part… because of their cybernetic implants… they have abilities that Spartans do not possess… abilities that give them decisive advantages in combat."

"This is…" he looked at her with wide eyes, "This is… stunning. With these things we'll never have to fear the UNSC ever again!"

"That's the point," she grinned at him. Off to her side, Tek was practically glowing with enthusiasm. He remembered the Spartans, all the death and destruction they were capable of… and now… to see them cowering like hatchlings… it was priceless.

…..

"Up ahead!" yelled Saros as she and Carmichael exiting the woods into a grassy clearing where their Pelican was parked, another Spartan called Hugh waving at them, "Hey guys! Where's everyone else!"

"Get down you idiot! And power that thing up!" Hugh instantly knew something was wrong and quickly ducked back inside the Pelican to prepare it for lift off. Behind Carmichael and Saros, the Indies continued to hound the fleeing Spartans with more sniper fire, glassing their shields, but not enough to fully take out one of the survivors.

After a brief jog, the duo arrived at the Pelican, the engines roaring, the hatch closing, but with Saros taking up the rear and Carmichael turning to get a last glimpse of the landscape as the vehicle slowly rose… that was when it happened. The rear hatch was almost closed, but briefly, oh so briefly, there was just enough of a gap for three Indie snipers to take aim. In a split second which seemed to drag on for far too long… three sniper rounds hit the back of Saro's helmet just before the hatch closed. Her face and brain blew out the front of her helmet and all over Carmichael's chest in a fine pink laden skin paste.

…

"Three kills confirmed," said Immortal21 as the last images of the Spartan Pelican faded from the holo-display in the center of the table. Ms Marquett looked over the assembled dignitaries, all of whom riding the wave of enthusiasm and battle lust.

That last shot had been either pure luck or pure skill, but it had sent a very impressive message regarding her new toys. Already, she could see them processing what 'this' meant for any who would dare stand up to the UNSC.

"So gentlemen," she addressed them, "I want to discuss matters of state."

Everyone in the room instantly glared at her with a mixture of fear, respect, and awe, "Gentlemen and ladies," she addressed them, "I would like to establish a few exclusive economic and diplomatic ties… just enough to rattle the UNSC and ONI… for the time being…."


	5. Stolen Goods

"You know what I like about the UNSC?" asked Dr. Greeves as he continued to monitor the consoles screen where the numerous data packets from their experiments at Black Site 09 were taking place. His lab was one of many, and his research team… with the busty ginger Martha… were also one of… as these thoughts lingered through Greeves mind his eyes darted back and forth to Martha's cleavage while she stood next to him, pushing her chest into his back.

It was hard to ignore her, whether it be because of her… impressive curves… or because of her brilliant mind… Greeves was uncertain as to which was more impressive as she breathed humid air upon his neck…. All he had to do with was finish his shit… this last series of experiments… and then Dr. Kelmer and Assistant Jacobs would take over. If he could just make it without incident… if he could just toddle back to his ONI sponsored habitat module for a long cold shower.

Black Site 09 wasn't like the others… the UNSC under ONI supervision were using this abandoned mining colony as a research instillation… on 'The Flood.' No one outside of ONI's top brass and a few well paid freighter crews knew that they were here… or so he thought.

"WARNING! Slipspace anomaly detected!" blared the base intercom as sirens as red klaxons suddenly showered light and sound across the laboratory. Both Greeves and Martha stood stunned and silent as several loud trembling proximity explosions rattled the mining habitat.

Oxygen pipes and water valves blew in the research module causing both scientists to flee the room as secondary oxygen seals clamped down to isolate the modules internal ventilation. Outside, numerous ODST in black body armor, sporting ONI Deathshead emblems upon their right shoulders, ran towards unknown problems in a nearby adjacent habitat. Greeves could hear sporadic gunfire as heavy metal security doors came down with hydraulic swooshes, closing off the damaged habitat from their own.

They were Elite ONI Shock Troops, second only to the Spartans… and yet they were clearly rattled as the atmospheric doors automatically sealed them in with some sort of unknown enemy. In fact, Greeves saw one of them, a black blur which came at one of the ODST's and sliced him open like a hung pig, red blood splattering across the small glass viewing slit of the massive security door.

Another series of close proximity explosions rattled the base with seismic tremors. Greeves rushed to the nearest monitor window showing the exterior of the base.

This was a lunar habitat sitting on top of several large assembled lab facilities moving down a vertical mining shaft. Just above the edge of the highest partition where the stars met the grey rock of the lifeless lunar moon… Greeves saw them… two large and unknown UNSC Cruisers firing upon the base. Just as he caught this brief glimpse, the metal security shutters to the windows activated and slid into place. Oxygen hissed from their seams as the concussive impacts from the firing salvos blew out the compressed glass of the habitat. Luckily, the shutters held… and both Greeves and Martha remained unharmed.

"Now hear this!" yelled another voice over the intercom, "Black Site 09 has been invaded by unknown hostiles! We are now at Condition Red! All lab personal report to combat shelters and all military personal move to you active stations! This is not a drill!"

Greeves grabbed Martha's hand and pulled-dragged her in tow, "Hurry… this way!" he yelled, she was surprised but obeyed as they both started to run towards the nearest security shelter where all the other lab personal on this level would be taking shelter.

He couldn't help but look back, her rather impressive bust bouncing with each jog, and those denim jeans riding up her… Greeves bit his upper lip to burn the images from his mind as another explosion shook the station.

This one was nearby and it blew a twenty meter large hole through the solid metal casing of the habitat module. Oxygen briefly vented from the chamber and abruptly stopped as some sort of seal gripped a large metal pod to the side of the lunar station.

Seconds later, ten ONI ODST ran into the corridor and surrounded the docking pod with raised MA5B Assault Rifles. Many of these men and women took up defensive positions behind overturned crates and tables as the life pod breeched inward with a violent explosion. Smoke and fire bleached the air in a haze as several rapidly moving humans poured into the station… weaving through the ODST bullets like phantoms.

They closed ranks in a blur and butchered the human defenders with sidearms and knives. Greeves stood frozen in place with Martha using him as a shield. He watched, unable to move, as another person descended unto the lunar station.

He was… Greeves eyes widened with surprise as this creatures golden armor greeted his visage, "A Jackle," he said in a hushed whisper as four armed men, the same armed men who had so easily butchered the ODST's lying at his feet, came to his side, flanking him to the left and right.

"Hatford Greeves," said one of them with a static ridden voice, while quickly checking the lab technician's photo lab ID upon his left breast. Another one of these men quickly continued, "Primary objective completed Commander. We have the VIP."

"What about the girl? She's seen too much," said another.

"Kill her," replied the Jackle, flatly and without emotion.

Martha grabbed at Greeves as two of the armored humans pulled her away, her fingernails breaking skin as she screamed and kicked for help. Another one of these men restrained him with a hand to his shoulder as his compatriots rounded the corner, Martha in tow.

"Mr… Greeves," spoke the golden armored Jackle. There was a brief sharp scream and some gunfire around the corner. Shortly thereafter the soldiers silently returned, "My employer has decided to renegotiate your current government contract…."

"Your employer?" he asked ashen faced. Was it because these men just wastefully shot Martha, and the loss to his libido was just now sinking in, or was it because these people had not only the gull but also the capability to face down both ONI and the UNSC without breaking a sweat? Greeves didn't know for certain, but what came next did suddenly surprise him.

"Commander?" spoke a voice through the Jackles coms, "We've successfully stolen the bio-weapons from storage and cloned this facilities data store. Secondary Targets have also all been obtained. We are now ready to progress to Stage 2 on your order."

"Good… proceed…"

"Stage 2?" asked Greeves. The Jackle eyed him with humor before speaking, "We're going to destroy this station to cover up our involvement. You're lucky… that we need you alive."

"Alive? Alive for what?" he demanded.

"To finish your little bio weapon… Ms. Marquett has big plans for it."

"What Bio-weapon?" Greeves eyes widened in horror as he processed what this creature was saying, "We aren't making weapons here. This is just a research station…"

Something suddenly cracked against the back of his skull, a rifle barrel; Greeves tumbled to the ground in a haze. Slowly, the Jackle knelled and leaned into his face before speaking, "What you are creating here will be an excellent bio-weapon when we are done with it… a perfect bio-weapon… to frame the UNSC."

Greeves started to black out as his arms were tugged upward and two of his captors started to tow him away. Unbeknownst to him in these fading seconds… he was one of eight survivors from a sudden asteroid strike upon Black Site 09s lunar surface which had, unfortunately, destroyed the entire station… and every other remaining soul therein. This included the data storehouse and several containers of flood spores… which were incinerated in the resulting kinetic contact explosion.

…

"They're called Immortals," said BB, as he reported to Admiral Osman while she sat in her command chair aboard the UNSC Port Stanley. She was sipping tea… with a hint of ginger to ease her troubled stomach, "Apparently, Ms Marquett was using them in a…" BB stopped briefly to find the politically correct term for, 'hunt,' "Demonstration, that Lt Carmichael unfortunately participated in."

"How is he handling it?" she asked, more concerned for Carmichaels well being after having lost most of his assault team following what was supposed to be a rather easy mission. The collateral damage she could handle logistically, but the mental damage to a talented commander… that was much more difficult.

BB tilted to his left and then leveled off, a digital representation of avoiding eye contact, which was funny because he was the ship so eye contact was pointless, "He's grieving, but mentally stable. I think Saros 412's face being splattered against his chest really got to him emotionally. He'll be fine… in time."

"That's good to hear," said Osman, genuinely content by that answer, "So, what do we know about these 'Immortals," she asked while interlocking her fingers before her chin in power a pose.

"Based upon what information we were able to recover from the mission data recorders aboard the Spartans armors, whose survivors were luckily retrieved… these Indie Spartans, these 'Immortals' as they call them, are much faster with similar reflex speeds to the Spartan II's, but they aren't as well equipped or… by appearance… as strong. Considering how the fire fight went down, it would seem as the demonstration was intentionally stacked in their favor. If any Spartan fireteam whether it be Spartan II, III, or IV; had encountered a squad of Immortals in say… an urban combat situation… the fight would have ended MUCH differently."

"So, the threat they pose is proportional to how well they can utilize their stealth and speed?" she asked while firmly grasping the tactical situation.

"Yes." Replied BB flatly.

"And what of Val Frankton, the Vid-Com Vice Chairman who was reporting to us?" ONI had numerous spies on Indigo Seven, but Val Frankton was highly placed and had actually attended the meeting where Ms Marquett revealed her new toys. Ever since then… Osman had secretly feared for the man's life less he be discovered by the potential rebels.

"Admiral," said BB mournfully, "Val Frankton was found dead three hours ago in his penthouse hotel room from a narcotic overdose. We are still investigating, but all indications point towards this merely being a coincidence rather than a blatant murder."

Osman went silent, and quickly regained her composure, "What about the other spies we have on Indigo Seven?"

"Still operational. Val Frankton is the only KIA... thus far."

The ONI Admiral bit her lower lip out of frustration. Was Val Frankton's death an actual accident or merely cleverly concealed murder? And, if it was murder then how many of her other ONI spies had been uncovered? How many could be compromised? How bad could the damage be if Ms. Marquett decided to clean house? That witch had to know that she was being watched by now, so was this her first move against the UNSC?

"BB," said Osman… "How soon can we get a Wet Work Team into position?"

The AI processed a few logistics in the blink of an eye and responded, "I can have a fully operable Wet Work Team in position at Indigo Seven in four days…"

Osman eyed him with a strange mixture of nervousness and anger, "Do it, we need to kill Ms Marquett before she causes anymore mayhem. Make sure that a group of Spartans are on this team as well… and that they know about the Immortals…"


	6. Road Rage

"Fine weather we are having this evening," said Mrs. Marquett in jest, as her finely dressed butler Gillian gave her a courtly bow while opening the door to her R-Type Bentley, umbrella still opened to shield her from the faintly falling rain as the skies over Indigo Seven's Capitol City continued to darken from the foul weather blowing in from the nearby green seas adjacent to the rocky continental shelf.

"Of course my lady," replied Gillian as he closed her door, rounded the vehicle, and hit the ignition to her heavily armored limo. Within seconds the Bentley was leaving the front of the Administration Tower for the UNSC Colony while being cheered at by the massed mob of pro-secessionist colonists drenched in rainwater, or adorned in plastic drapery to shield them from the rain. Colonial police in black SWAT vests and plastic poncho's pulled away steel riot barricades to allow her vehicle free transit from the administrative complex.

In the days following her first visit to this facility, the mobs cheering in support for colonial succession had only grown with each continued public appearance by Mrs. Marquett. At first they were peaceful, merely cheering and whistling as she waltzed into the building, but now… with ONI clamping down on the major news outlets just in case other colonies started to feel similar sentiments at leaving the Earth Union… they were starting to become more violent, more on edge. Many of them now chanted openly their desires for a full succession from the UNSC, "Home Rule. Earth Go Away," she repeated numbly to herself with a grin, as her limo fully pulled away into the metropolitan city with the same eerie chanting slowly fading away into the background of noisy traffic.

"Makes you wonder," she said to no one in particular with unique wistfulness despite her butler being the only person who could overhear, "Do these people even realize the dangers of complete independence? The UNSC may not be perfect, but under its political umbrella these people do have some modicum of protection from the navy... or what remains of it following 'the war.'"

"It's not always about the military might my lady," spoke her butler with a chuckle, "As with all things in life... Sometimes… people just get tired of being told what to do and think. It's a matter of subtle manipulation… something ONI has grown increasingly lazy towards."

Mrs. Marquett laughed to herself, "Now isn't that the truth. Spartans? The Infinity? Information Control? Such heavy handed methods and symbols leave the weak and powerless with an alternate impression to reality. Symbols meant to embody strength can also be used as potent weapons which demonstrate absolute authority. ONI… truly doesn't understand how blatantly they flaunt their power before the masses. It's only natural for people to be scared and resentful."

"Resentful my lady?" asked her butler in a coy voice.

Mrs. Marquett grinned to herself and uncrossed her legs to lean forward and pour a glass of scotch from her limos minibar, "People fear what they don't understand. It's a natural evolutionary trait… so I've been told. The problem with ONI is how they keep secrets and flaunt the power they wield to silence just criticism. Their methods make sure that people never understand the threats they deal with, as they claim, to protect those people in question. This creates fear. Those people back there," she motioned behind her limo window with a raised thumb, "Don't want succession from the UNSC. What they really want… is for an end to ONI."

Mrs. Marquett sipped her scotch and twisted her lips from its bitter flavor, "ONI has done its job too well. They've become too much of a bogyman with too far of a reach over the colonial authority. And now… people are scared. They want a way out…" the young woman gave a whim sickle chuckle and started to pour herself another glass of scotch, "But that's enough politics. To the penthouse Gillian. I feel the need some Bach… would you be so kind?"

"Of course, my lady," replied her butler as his fingers danced across the dashboard to start the vehicles sound system. Violins, Courante, by Johann Sebastian Bach, now started to play within the vehicle as Mrs. Marquette continued to drink, while picking up a pin and provided newspaper to do a crossword puzzle on her trip back to the hotel.

...

"We have confirmation," said BB as Captain; no, Commander and Chief Admiral Serin Osman, oh how things change, took her seat aboard the Port Stanley bridge. Her AI secretary, for the lack of a better term, had already taken the time to heavily encrypt the necessary incoming transmissions for the main event. Yes, main event, how very morbid.

As it were, wanting to watch Black Ops in real time was becoming something of a guilty pleasure from the new ONI Director. BB really didn't approve of this particular type of barbarism, but... part of him wanted to see this particular assassination himself given the importance of the target itself. Mrs. Marquett had become a threat, a beacon to rally support for colonial home rule separate from the UNSC. This was a nasty political assassination on paper and in popular politics, but in the background shadow game secretly an attempt to remove a very dangerous armed warlord capable fielding units already proven to be a match for Spartans. Her death was chess etiquette, removing a valuable Indie piece on the game board before it became too much of a threat later on down the line. It wasn't revenge.

"Have the assets been deployed?" she asked while sipping from a cup of coffee. The question was purely rhetorical; of course BB had already deployed the necessary hatchet-men who were already awaiting on standby to spring their trap.

"Of course," he replied optimistically, "Time till target..." he cocked his boxy self to the side as if reading some sort of hidden timer just over his holographic shoulder, "thirty seconds."

"Are we live?" she asked. BB bobbed up and down, the equivalent of a nod, while changing the closest monitors on the bridge to show a live broadcast from Indigo Seven. The broadcasts were a mixture of angles from Black Widow Communications Satellites and atmospheric spy drones. The one thing each image had in common was what they were followed, an armored limo moving along an elevated highway.

"Most impressive," smiled Osman while taking a deep gulp of her coffee and skimming over the provided video feeds before taking a keen interest on particular view from a nearby spy drone giving a nice side image of the limo as it weaved through traffic. She selected this particular live feed to follow the operation upon.

BB took his commanders compliment at face value and decided to elaborate upon the technological display of power, "We're relaying directly through FLEETCOM One Actual, perhaps a slight misuse of authority but I don't think anyone will take much offense all things considered. Everything is being broadcasts with real time encryption just in case the signal gets high-jacked."

Osman nodded and took another sip of her coffee, "And the fire team?" she asked coyly as two blue minivans started to ominously encroach upon the armored limo from behind.

"Two fire teams of ODST and a couple of Spartans... just for insurance. Unfortunately, I couldn't obtain any non-obvious air support for the ground teams so they'll be going in mostly on their own."

"What's the threat assessment?" she asked dryly.

BB bobbed from side to side as if considering this for a socially unnecessary amount of time. In truth, he had the numbers processed milliseconds after she had asked him, "Mission has an 87% chance of success. This includes factoring in the logistical concerns over exfiltration of the wet-work crew we have dispatched..." BB stalled briefly, "However..."

"However?" asked Osman. She didn't like 'howevers.' Not in this line of work.

"However, the files we have on the targets leave me... less than enthralled. We know of Mrs. Marquett's past as a surviving clone of Dr. Halsey, but... the requested files for her butler Guillian is frankly almost non-existent. Frankly, we have nothing on the man which wasn't clearly fabricated prior to 30 years ago."

Admiral Osman took a second to process that little bit of information. They had information on Gillian dating back years, but most of it was falsified. The only hard information they had on his past was 30 years old. Something about that made the ONI Admiral nervous."

"Let me guess," she uttered dully, "He's the extra 13% in the calculations?"

"Quiet," said BB optimistically.

...

Gillian saw the two ominous blue vans pulling up to either side of Mrs. Marquett's limo in his mirrors. Sloppy, very sloppy, whoever taught those drivers to stalk their targets on an open highway deserved to be dragged out into the street and shot. Surely, he thought, the high art of 'tailing' a target wasn't lost to the ages of espionage and assassination? No matter, if these idiots were clearly getting ready to attack then he might as well do his job properly, "My lady," he addressed his mistress through an imbedded com to the passenger compartment.

"Yes Gillian," she replied curtly.

"It would appear, that we are about to have some unexpected complications. It might be wise to perhaps fasten your seatbelt," calm, mannerly. He could hear her chuckling and clicking the waist restraint as advised.

"I trust you can 'handle' this situation?" she asked him. Through the intercom he could hear her wrinkling the newspaper to start the crossword puzzle as if the upcoming roving gun battle was nothing more than a background trifle to her daily commute.

"Of course my lady. Any butler who can't handle such ruffians isn't worth his salt to the Marquett family..." instantly he heard her retort, "Gillian... was that an old Earth cartoon reference?"

"My lady," he replied in mock shock, "A butler has his hobbies."

...

"And so it begins," said Osman as the two powder blue minivans slid their passenger doors open revealing two multi-barreled vehicle mounted minigun's manned by black armored ODST operators. However, before they could open fire the armored limo hit its brakes and swerved hard into the right guard median. The unsuspecting blue minivan flanking to fire into the armored vehicle grinded against the guardrail raining sparks and broken vehicular steel down the interstate.

Concrete sharded onto outbound vehicles causing their drivers to panic and swerve behind the limo as the second minivan tapped its brakes to come back into alignment. Instantly, the ODST fired his minigun into the bulletproof glass leaving spider-webbing along its tinted windows.

The Limo floored the gas and broke off of the battered blue minivan now limping along the highway. Expecting the acceleration, the second minivan tried to keep pace, but underestimated the movement of mass from his targets customized engine in comparison to his cheaply rented moving box. While the driver of the second minivan attempted to over-compensate for the speed difference, the limo driver slammed his brakes again and took his ill-attention and slow responsive self in the right corner. The second minivan fishtailed and crossed-the-t in front of the armored limo, almost tipping over and burning rubber sideways along the highway.

Osman watched as the driver of the limo pulled to his right, forcing the second minivan to break off from in front, and form fishtailing cover for the emerging second minivan to his immediate corner. The two minivans swerved behind the limo as the traffic behind the roving gun battle braked and pulled back wanting no part in the conflict.

...

"Hum..." hummed Mrs. Marquett through the coms as Gillian laughed to himself like a maniac. They were rookies, green, gloriously green. He took both drivers by complete and total surprise. What sort of idiot assassin didn't know how to recover from a 'pit maneuver?'

"Yes my lady," he addressed her.

Coyly she replied, "Four down. Uncultured Tribal. 6 letters, 3rd letter 'v?'"

Gillian watched one of the blue minivans coming up alongside his left, using a semi-truck for cover. He frowned, hit his brakes, rubber burning against asphalt, the limo suddenly speeding quickly towards the semi-trucks grill. The semi-truck braked hard. The blue minivan suddenly found itself exposed outpacing its own cover as Gillian slammed it into the guardrail blasting away huge chunks of concrete and broken metal.

"Savage, my lady," replied Gillian as the limo once more accelerated.

...

"Oh my," said BB out of the blue, as his full run time synced with a smaller semi-autonomous AI fragment of his core programming, to fully read and comprehend the vast data archive recently declassified by ONI Section Zero."

"What is it?" asked Osman, suddenly puzzled as she watched the roving gun battle play out from a side angle upon a nearby viewing screen. Things were going unexpectedly poorly all things considered… odd.

BB bobbed from side to side, his boxy shape giving off the illusion of nervousness, "Section Zero just sent us some rather unfortunate information from their archives. Apparently, they had a facial match to the Marquette family butler buried deep in their classified files... It's... not good."

"Define not good," replied Osman with sudden peeked interests.

BB skimmed through the vast array of recently declassified materials, reading them all in seconds. Some of this stuff was ancient history. All of it was... messy. "He's a former member of the 'Hangmen.'"

"Hangmen?" asked Osman, "Is that some sort of old Operations Team?"

"Something like that..." BB stalled briefly, "Look, you need to see this."

…...

It appeared as though the rookies had recovered. Gillian watched the two battered blue minivans flooring their engines and coming up from behind once again. The one on the rear left had two ODST's leaning out of the passenger compartment with M57 Pilum rocket launchers, their bodies held in place by harnesses and bungie cables despite the rush of air against their exposed bodies. 'Perhaps they should have lead with that,' muttered Gillian to quietly to himself while looking at the other vehicle.

He watched, puzzled, as it's boxy suspension suddenly leaned sharply to one side as a large green metal hand griped the obscured side of an open side panel. Then it emerged, a fully armored Spartan, scaling the side of the van, standing on its roof, getting ready to jump onto the limo from thirty yards away on the interstate.

"Hum…" hummed Mrs. Marquett from the passenger compartment.

"Yes, my lady," replied Gillian while studying the Spartan's pose. He only had one chance to get this right, or that Spartan would land on the limo and tear it apart with his bare hands.

"Nineteen across, Royal Execution. Third letter 'o.' Eighth letter 'g.'"

Gillian waited patiently, watching calmly, and then… the Spartan jumped, vaulting between the minivan and limo. Instantly the butler hit the brakes and pulled left as hard as he could. The Spartan landed prone on the roadway next to the passenger side of the driver's compartment. Gillian floored the limo and swerved hard right into the guardrail. The Spartan held up his hands to try and push the limo away, but mass worked against him and he was slammed against the guardrail on his back. Gillian continued to grind the Spartan into the guardrail leaving a trail of sharding concrete rubble and sparks in his wake until finally something akin to a red smear appeared in his rear view mirror running the length of twenty meters. Just to be sure, he continued to grind the Spartan into pulp for another twenty meters before finally pulling away. Beneath the vehicle he felt something large bump below the tires and watched in the rearview mirror as the mangled body of man and metal twisted under the tires of a city bus causing it to flip on its side in a spectacular crash.

"Blood Eagle, my lady," replied Gillian.

"Blood Eagle? Ah yes, of course," she replied.

…..

BB discretely pulled up a scrolling data log of Gillian's official ONI record, "Fireteam Hangman, Former ONI Section One, Rank Major, prior ONI record holder: sniper, demolitions, infiltration... Officially all of these records were held up until the implementation of the Spartan II's. His real name is... Leon Price..."

"So these Hangmen... what are they? Former ONI Deathshead?" asked Osman as she continued to skim through 'Leon Price's' war record. It was bad. Really bad. With the exception of perhaps the Master Chief no living Spartan had anything this lengthy or distinguished compared to this single ODST.

"Fireteam Hangman was ONI's flagship Kill Team prior to the full implementation of the Spartan II's against the Indies during the Pre-Covenant War. Their members were usually rotated into and out of certain ODST units which operated under ONI authority. They all but founded Deathshead. As for most of their members... once we fully implemented the Spartans into dedicated operations the Fireteam was officially disbanded and reintegrated back into the marine ODST. In hindsight... an extremely wasteful decision. Mr. Price..." BB stopped briefly for dramatic pause, "was forced into early retirement following a 'training accident' with a known Spartan on Atlas Station, a skull fracture, broken ribs, but the real issue was security. He resurfaced during the Fall of Reach, leading a civilian militia during the last night of New Alexandria. He was assumed dead when Reach was glassed. In hindsight... an incorrect assumption."

…..

The second minivan with its most likely mysterious second Spartan cargo remained distant from the limo while its compatriot with the rocket armed ODST's decided to take no further chances. Gillian watched as they fired their rockets from the hip. There was little he could do against that type of incoming fire except take the punishment. Both rockets were near misses exploding along the flanks to the limo, blowing up large chunks of pavement, blackening the paint, but not actually wounding its armored body.

Desperately, Gillian searched for an out. Something he could use for cover, or… he saw it. Off in the distance was a suspension bridge leading out over into the bay. That was an eighty meter drop into cold water. Almost there, almost.

As the ODST's reloaded their rockets he cleared the remaining ground to the bridge and grinned wolfishly to himself. They were targeting him again, but unfortunately were far too late. Gillian hit the brakes hard, and the vehicle lurched to a sudden hard stop. He intentionally fishtailed the massive armored body on its customized shocks and the driver of the blue minivan had precious few seconds to react.

In the fraction of time before the minivan hit the limo on its rear corner Gillian took pleasure from the fear in the eyes of the ODST's leaning suspended out of the side panel. They knew, he could see it, that their driver had just killed them both. As the vehicle hit the side of the more effectively grounded armored limo, it's rear axle spun and it's front tipped forward, sending the minivan up and over the side of the bridge and down into the water's down below. Gillian liked to think that he heard them screaming as they fell to their deaths…

Traffic slammed to a grinding halt in the background to avoid the wreckage as the second minivan came to a halt nearby. Instantly another green armored Spartan leapt from its side and ran towards the limo driver's door with a raised rifle. He covered the distance in lengthy strides, grabbed the door, and tore it free from the hinges, throwing it aside like a drape.

"You mother fuc…!" he never got to finish that sentence as a very high velocity bullet blew out the front of his helmet visor, pulping the brain beneath, sending a brief geyser of blood flooding out of the bullet hole in his face before his armored body fell backwards unto the asphalt with a metallic clunk.

Gillian stood from the limo holding an antique human firearm with a wooden stock and ornate silver engraving. He opened up the rear back breach and pulled free a ridiculously large shell casing, dropping it casually to the roadway, and reloading with ease a replacement from his coat pocket.

"All of that technology," he glowered, "Defeated by a twenty-first century 700 Nitro Elephant Gun." He finished reloading, and while using his vehicle as cover took aim of the driver of the second minivan. He watched the man struggle to free his sidearm before pulling the trigger, blowing the moronic soldier's body into pulp above his shoulders.

Gillian then climbed back into the limo and, minus the door, continued to drive his mistress back to her penthouse, "Hummm," she messaged him through the embedded coms.

"Having trouble my lady?" he asked her calmly.

"No…" she paused briefly, "I was just thinking that perhaps we should have the vehicle detailed this week. When was its last oil change?"

Gillian looked at the sticker in the upper left of the window, "My word… you are correct madam. I'll see to it first thing tomorrow," replied the butler with the wind from the missing door blowing through his grey hair.

…..

"Fucking hell... this mans a ghost," mumbled a disgruntled Osman. BB perked up from here rare usage of profanity and slowly shook from side to side, his impersonation of a blink and headshake she assumed.

"This man should be dead... and we find him here... considering the company he's keeping we are finding ourselves with many reemerging ghosts from ONI's past," said BB as the roving gun battle ended with the battered armored limo pulling away towards Mrs. Marquett's hotel.

Osman sat numbed for a brief second before finally coming a decision, "We can't let this continue any longer. I want a full combat ready Killteam assembled from the UNSC Infinity. Have Sarah Palmer lead it. All Spartans. Stealth infiltration, but once they are inside that hotel they are to go weapons hot."

"And the civilians?" asked BB.

Osman continued to look over the footage from the highway chase and the numerous deaths caused by Mrs. Marquett's butler, "Keep the collateral damage to a minimum, but sanctioned nonetheless."

"Understood," said BB without emotion before blinking away. He was part of the ship and could still hear and see everything Osman did on the bridge so the effort was more... symbolic than anything, letting her know that he considered himself dismissed.


	7. Under New Management

Mrs. Marquett stood by the large window to her penthouse watching the tropical hurricane blow over Indigo Seven's Capitol City. Behind her Gillian cleared a set of ceramic tea cups and saucers with his typical calmness whilst remaining un-phased by the days previous attempted assassination. To any visiting guests his demeanor would certainly appear to be nothing more than English senility in his old age, but… Mrs. Marquette knew better.

"I want you to stop for a moment," she told him without turning around, her eyes watching the beads of water run down the window panels. The aging butler chuckled mirthlessly to himself and stood gracefully to attention with a single palm behind his back. His master eyed his reflection in the window as his posture slowly shifted from that of a humble butler to that of a military stance with both of his arms braced behind his back and chest pushed forward.

"Sir," he addressed her sternly, coming out of character, switching from an English accent to something slightly less... cliché, Welsh perhaps, for the first time in months. Mrs. Marquette nodded numbly. In a way, she had come to appreciate how the old man had so easily played the role of simpleton family butler before countless individuals for several consecutive years. Few knew how utterly ruthless he could be when faced with a life or death situation as a fully trained soldier. Few knew the actual person who handled their cups of tea and baked those… what were they called again, ah yes 'crumpets.'

"Your thoughts?"

Leon nodded without a smile upon his face and began to elaborate, "If we stay on Indigo Seven, ONI will hit us again. That last Killteam was half assed, not so much a test, more they thought they could accomplish more with less. Now, they know differently. Next time they won't take any chances."

"Do you think they know about you?" she asked him, this time turning to face him, serious, as equals. Gillian had, more or less, been her bodyguard and chief advisor for the decades following her parent's deaths at the hands of a Covenant naval incursion during the last weeks of the war. She trusted his judgement above and beyond that of everyone else.

"Probably. I would be surprised if they didn't by now. Had they known earlier, they wouldn't have sent such an incompetent hatchet team with that last effort."

She nodded, "And you? If they send another Killteam it'll almost certainly going be all Spartans. Are you up for that?"

This time he grinned, "I don't blame that kid, one of Dr. Hasley's little bastards, for Atlas Station. Truth be told, it wasn't really his fault. 'We' were cocky, arrogant, we still saw them as... children pretending to be soldiers. The hit to my head and broken ribs wounded my pride more than anything, but there is no denying that we were in the wrong. However, I truly blame Dr. Halsey for..." he stopped to briefly mask his disgust at the mere mention of ONI's most notorious Dr. Mengele, "it wasn't until later that I learned how she let him continue, used us to see just how easily they could kill when let loose. She could have stopped him, but she didn't. And then, she had those of us who lived canned and kicked out of the military to save face. I'll kill Spartans, but it won't be out of revenge for getting my ass kicked. It'll be because I want to show her, that arrogant bitch of a scientist, that her little lab rats aren't as indestructible as she thinks. The more black ONI coffins I fill with Spartan 'numbers' the better that message will become."

Thunder boomed outside the windows as Mrs. Marquett nodded calmly. She looked at him, in the eyes, "What do you need?" four simple words which gave the former ODST assassin a blank check for any goods she could order from the local black market.

He smiled fondly, "Give me one squad of Immortals, and a means of jamming their motion trackers. I can handle the rest. Believe it or not, I have just the thing for the task at hand sitting in my private collection," Gillian laughed bemused of the situation, "It really does belong in a museum, my little toy, but… sometimes proper butchery requires 'exotic methods.'"

She nodded curtly, "Done."

And just like that Leon slipped back into his butler persona, bowing gently, returning to his English accent, "And with that my master I do believe that it is time for me to tend to the dishes." Mrs. Marquett chuckled to herself as he finished cleaning away some silver cutlery and wondered away with an aristocratic gait.

….

The Jackal's pushed the weak and frail human scientists captured from ONI Blacksite 9 down a long metal corridor buried deep beneath Perseus Fifty-Three, a numerically designated asteroid mine within the Perseus System. Unbeknownst to ONI, this mine had long ago been converted into a hidden and self-sustaining laboratory complex away from the prying eyes of the UNSC. The only time any Indie ships arrived or left the Perseus system was to off-load new staff and equipment which couldn't be manufactured on-site… roughly once every three years. Nobody knew this place was here, and that served its patron perfectly fine.

"I demand to know where you have taken us?" said Dr. Greeves with far more authority than he actually felt. The man was a coward, he knew it and took a certain amount of dark pride in the fact. One of the Jackals, a male dressed in golden armor, turned to face him with a wicked grin. The kidnapped ONI scientists had long ago learned that this one was their leader, an individual called 'Mr. Tek' by the human Indie rebels greeting them upon arrival to this instillation.

Prior to then, it was a complete mystery. Greeves and the rest of Blacksite 9's kidnapped staff had spent at least a week in a cold damp cargo hold eating scraps of food with nothing but aliens for company. The fact that most of the creatures guarding them were jackals who knew very little of the human lexicon made sure that very little information about their captures could be learned.

"This is the Perseus Research Station. It is a…" The alien stalled his poorly enunciated sharp chirping words in brief reflection for what information best to share with the captured human scientists, "It is a facility built for a single purpose."

"And what would that purpose be? And, whose purpose would that be?" asked Greeves spitefully. One of the alien guards escorting the group smacked him on the back of the head for his uncouth reply resulting in a brief chuckle from the others within the armed escort. Everyone laughed with the exception of Mr. Tek who merely continued to lead the motley crew down the long metal passageway towards a set of airlock doors.

"You will see soon enough."

Beyond those doors was a vast internal atrium nine floors high, lined in steel habitat modules buried deep into the asteroids stone bedrock. A thick oxygen rich atmosphere cycled through the main habitat from an elaborate series of algae archologies on the bottom floor from which numerous creeper vines emerged from a bubbling goo of recycled plant waste. Several additional scientists dressed in white lab coats briefly acknowledged the new arrivals before once more resuming their assigned data shifting tasks during lunch breaks or off hours.

The group of captured ONI scientists were assembled in a staggered line at the entrance before an oversized hologram pad. Suddenly, a blue hologram materialized before the arriving group of captured men and women, as Indie soldiers formed up all around them with nasty looked shock batons. This hologram was of a young man, slim, military cut hair buried under a mock beret. The holographic illusion of the stations AI construct wore combat fatigues which complimented his bushy beard and mutton chops.

"Oy, you the new fishes sent by the Boss? I've been waitin' for ya, you pansy little ONI bitches,'" he addressed them with some sort of rustic Earth accent Dr. Greeves couldn't quite place.

"What is this? An AI? Never heard one with such bad grammar before," laughed one of the captured scientist in cringe worthy mockery. Unfortunately for her, the data-being took the insult personally, "Hoy, the big lug with the rifle standing nearby, slap that woman across the back of the head," he ordered one of the escorting jackals with a slight stare from his rotating holographic head. The alien obliged the order by breaking the woman's jaw with a lash from the butte of a Covenant Carbine. She toppled over missing a few teeth which lay in red shards upon the grated floor, muttering a screech somewhere between a scream and a moan.

"My name is Commander Pots. I'ill be yor' warden for the rest of yor' godforsaken days. This place," he motioned around the inner chamber with his arms, "is the Perseus Research Station. The more intelligent among ya probably guessed that we do some seriously evil shit here so congratz, welcome to the club'."

"I will never work for Indie trash like you," stated one of the members from the captured research staff out of defiance, his proud chin held high while looking down upon the AI base commander.

"Oy, we always get a few tough birds who think they'z be special what-not. Always helps to make a demonstration, Mr. Patronis," the AI looked at a nearby Indie human soldier wearing black combat fatigues over a skintight vacuum suit.

"Yes Commander," replied the Indie-man, placing his arms behind his back, going at ease as if the AI were a physical military commander on a parade ground.

"Take that bastard who just shot off his mouth, and shove his fat arse out of an airlock. I don't take lip from no stuck up ONI goons on my bloody station," The man who had boasted of never wanting to work for Indies while captured suddenly paled as two very large Indie commandos grabbed him, knocked him out with some shock rods, and then proceeded to drag him away back down the metal corridor the group had just arrived through.

One of the captured Blacksite 9 scientists started to cry from the side of where Dr. Greeves was standing as the AI looked them all over collectively, judgmentally like some sort of butcher inspecting his flayed beef, "Oy, sorry for the trouble lads, but we can't have you guys thinking about such annoying things as escape. You guys need to understand things, and I'm going to… teach you, savvy that?"

"Commander's going to do some teaching!" yelled one of the nearby human Indies standing at ease before the group.

"Damn straight," replied the AI Commander Pots, "Now listen up ONI-men. You're going to do some research for us, make us a nice bio weapon capable of getting past UNSC security. If it works, we'll find us a place in our organization for your sorry asses. Don't worry, it ain't all bad. We have a nice and fancy dental plan, vacation days, the works. Now… what say you?"

"Never," said another ONI scientist in defiance near the end of the line of research suits. This time Commander Pots made the example immediate.

"Shoot that bastard in the face," the captured man blinked out of bewilderment, well… before one of the nearby Indie-soldiers drew his sidearm and blew his brilliant brain out of the back of his head in a fantastic yet grizzly pink mist.

"What say the rest of you?" The question went down a line. One by one the ONI scientists refused. One by one they were shot and killed until only Dr. Greeves was left alive, standing in a pool of blood and bodies. When the question was posed to him the ONI man felt a brief thrill to show off his pro-Earth patriotism… and then his inner scumbag kicked in.

"I'll do it," said Greeves. The assembled group of Indie guards and alien commandos chuckled amongst themselves from his ignoble response. Greeves was an honest man… in his own way. He was honest enough to admit that he was a coward, a scumbag, perhaps slightly lecherous. However, he wasn't an idiot, and there were certain 'benefits' to being 'the last man standing.' Yeah sure, he was betraying Earth to save his own sorry ass, but guess what… all the people who cared and who would shank him for that betrayal were now in a bloody pile at the base of his feet. So yeah, he agreed to build that Indie doomsday weapon because pragmatically they had given him a way out.

"Always one bastard in the bunch," said the AI approvingly, "Not that I disapprove… Mr…."

"Greeves," replied the captured ONI scientist with a bit of authority, "Dr. Greeves."

"Right so," said the AI Commander, "Just so you know, the offer I made earlier will stand. You fore-fill your end of the deal, and we'll get you sorted so that you never have to fret over such things as Spartan ninjas until the day you die. Savvy that?"

"Yeah…" replied Greeves with a sense of foul forbidding, "I savvy that." This was it, crossing that final line from a slight scumbag to full blown scumbag. Oddly enough, Greeves had always thought that crossing this particular final line would be more… difficult. As things stand, he barely felt anything negative at all. If anything, he felt better. He felt good. Fuck Earth! Fuck ONI! Fuck his crappy job, in a crappy lab, being watched by crappy soldiers! No no no no, screw all of that nonsense. Private sector was where it's at! "When do I get started?"

Commander Pots grinned. This was a rarity. There was always one scumbag in a group willing to go turncoat, but this Dr. Greeves was a real piece of crap. Pity about the floor though. Had he known the last man standing was going to say yes he could have saved the janitorial staff all that trouble cleaning up the blood and guts.

"Mr. Tek," said the AI commander to the alien mercenary, "Our mutual boss has a message for you. It's in my office, up the stairs four floors. The big room with hunting trophies. I'll meet you there." And with that the AI hologram of Commander Pots dissipated away into nothingness leaving his personal security to handle the necessary details associated with Dr. Greeves continued detainment.


End file.
